I like to think that I’m a smart guy. I mean, I’m no Einstein (as in Albert), but I’m also no Epstein (as in Juan, a Sweathog on Welcome Back, Kotter). On the stupid/smart continuum I think I lean a couple of notches toward smart.However, there are a few things that I refuse to learn.Okay, maybe refuse isn’t the right word. It’s not that I refuse to learn these things, it’s that I can’t learn them. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many examples I have, I just don’t grasp the concept.Now, I’m not talking about difficult stuff here, like Japanese, or quantum mechanics, or why the Cubs can’t get a two-out hit.I’m talking about normal, everyday stuff that most people appear to have figured out, but that I have a tough time with.Actually, when I put it that way, maybe it isn’t that I can’t learn. Maybe I do just refuse to learn. That’s stubborn of me.(No it’s not!)For example, I like to cook, and I’m pretty decent at it. The stuff I make tastes good most of the time, but every now and then I make something so horrific that I have to make myself choke it down. (God forbid I waste a morsel of food, even if it does taste worse than those bits I scoop up from the kitchen drain!)And usually the culprit of such culinary ineptitude is the stove. Or more accurately, the flame.No one has yet succeeded in explaining to me why I can’t cook something at twice the heat in half the time. If I can cook a burger in 6 minutes at 300 degrees, then shouldn’t I be able to cook the same burger in 3 minutes at 600 degrees? Simple mathematics says yes, but the wiseguy who controls meat doneness says it doesn’t work that way.If I can write those words, then why can’t I turn the flame down, wait a few minutes, and end up with a good burger? (That’s not a rhetorical question. I really want to know why I ignore my experience!)Example number two is time-related also. If I have to be somewhere at two o’clock, and I know it takes twenty-five minutes to get there if there’s absolutely no traffic, then why do I always assume there will be no traffic and leave at 1:35, only to end up arriving ten minutes late?I think that has to do with my general perversion of time, which manifests itself in a variety of ways.If there’s a household project, I’ll evaluate what needs to be done, figure out how to do it, and then come to a conclusion as to how long it will take to complete said project. It will inevitably take longer than I thought, yet when it’s done I’m actually surprised that it took so long.“Wow, I really thought I could paint that entire room in 90 minutes. I can’t believe it took the entire day.” I should believe it, especially since it probably took me all day to paint the damn thing the last time I did it!Perhaps the most maddening thing that I’m slow to learn is the relationship between a low fuel gauge on my car, and running out of gas. I’ve written about this before. I understand there’s a problem. But still, I continue to push the out-of-gas boundary.(Although, in my defense, I will say that I have running out of gas down to a science. The past three times I’ve run out of gas I’ve actually made it to a gas station. So there’s that.)So to what do I attribute my inability to learn these simple lessons? If I have obvious evidence pointing me in a direction, then why can’t I bring myself to act on that evidence?I’ve spent a lot of time pondering that question, and the conclusion I’ve come to is that I’m asking the wrong question. I shouldn’t be asking, “Why can’t I learn this or that?” The better question is “How the hell did I learn anything at all?”Your guess is as good as mine.In fact, it’s probably better.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Dear Monday, Nobody Likes You
Dear Monday,In general, I try to follow the common rule of not saying anything at all if I don’t have something nice to say. It’s good advice. However, it’s time someone told you the truth.You suck. Nobody likes you.I know you’ve been given a raw deal with your situation in relation to the work week, but that’s not my problem. Excuses will get you nowhere in life.So think of this as constructive criticism. You can’t change where you fall among the days of the week, but perhaps there are some things you can do better.First, stop being in such a rush to get here. Take your time, stop and smell the roses. Most of the time it seems like I’m enjoying a nice quiet Friday night, and then ten minutes later it’s Monday morning. What the hell?Follow Friday’s lead. That’s a leisurely day if I’ve ever seen one. Everyone in the world is waiting for Friday to come, but that doesn’t make Friday come any faster. Friday goes at its own pace. It takes its time, strolls through the park, has a cigarette, eats a big Italian lunch, and makes its appearance only when we can’t wait any more.And we love Friday, right? So maybe if you wouldn’t be in such a damn rush to get here all the time, we might like you more, too.Since you’re named after the moon, maybe it might be helpful if you acted like the moon every now and then. Pay close attention here…The moon is always there, but there’s only one night a month in which it completely shows itself to us. And actually, even on that night we only see one side of it. The dark side is always hidden. But anyway, the full moon only comes once every twenty-nine days or so. The rest of the time we only see part of the moon, or sometimes, none of it at all.You should start doing that. Every twenty-ninth appearance you can stick around for 24 hours. The rest of the time, don’t show your entire self. Limit your appearance. Can you imagine how much more beloved you’d be if we knew that sometimes you were only around for three or six or fifteen hours? Remember what they say about absence’s effect on the heart!Also, it’s about time you took some responsibility. Let’s face it, you’re the beginning of the week. It all starts with you, which is why there’s so much animosity toward you. The claim that you’re actually the second day of the week only makes things worse. Sunday isn’t first. You are! Own it. Accept it.Haven’t you ever heard the claim that it’s not the crime that gets people in trouble, but rather the cover up? It’s the same with you. Trying to dodge the responsibility of beginning a new week and deflect it to Sunday is just scandalous. I don’t know whether you’ve heard or not, but Saturday and Sunday are the weekEND. It’s difficult to be both the end and the beginning of something. So go out there and claim the beginning of the week. Stop being a shyster about it. People like honesty.You’re still facing an uphill battle though, Monday. There’s a deep history of distrust and dislike toward you, and just doing the things that I describe above probably won’t be enough. Most people probably still won’t like you.True, you throw us a few bones every now and then. Lots of people like Monday Night Football, and Memorial Day and Labor Day are pretty awesome, but that doesn’t account for very many Mondays, so good luck. You’re going to need it.You remember that old Bangles song, Manic Monday, don’t you? Well it’s a little known fact that they actually wanted to call it Motherf@#cking Monday, but the record company wouldn’t allow it. But even with the tamed down version, it’s still an awesome song and sums up how everyone feels about you.Thanks for understanding, Monday. I hope you take this advice to heart and try to do better. We’d all be better off if you sucked a little bit less.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Joan Rivers: Her Critics Missed the Larger Point
If you believe Joan Rivers—which I do, because, well why not?—Johnny Carson never spoke to her after she landed her own late night talk show on Fox back in the eighties. Supposedly he felt betrayed, and evidently he held a grudge.And he could take a joke!Usually people who respond to comedians in such a manner are people who miss the larger point of a comedian’s work.Although Joan Rivers was a comedy icon who had plenty of success throughout her career, and made a small fortune by using her cutting wit and aggressive manner to not only attract attention, but to make people laugh as soon as she got their attention, the laughter often morphed into criticism.She was criticized for going too far in some of her jokes. I read an article where one of her friends said that days after 9/11 she asked him if he wanted to meet for lunch at Windows on the Ground (a reference to Windows on the World, the restaurant at the top of one of the World Trade Center towers). It’s hard to think how a joke could go farther out than that.Unlike the 9/11 joke, which she told in private and didn’t get criticized for, she did receive criticism for telling jokes about the Holocaust, Nazis, and kidnapping victims, among other things.Some criticism should be expected when joking about such subjects, so it shouldn’t be surprising. However, given her long career, and the free-flowing, almost nonstop stream of humor that she produced, she deserved some slack.But more importantly, she recognized something that many people forget: comedians are supposed to make fun of things. We want them to make fun of things. The better a comedian is at making fun of things, the funnier they are. And of course we want them to funny. (Is there anything worse than an unfunny comedian?)There is no shortage of people to tell us how dreadful, frightening or sad a situation is. All we have to do is turn on the evening news. After a while, it gets exhausting. I like to keep abreast of current events, but even I have to tune out sometimes because there’s just too much killing, sickness and tragedy. Bad news.Joan Rivers did many things very well in show business, but my favorite thing about her is that she realized that if something is funny, it’s funny, no matter who gets upset. When she told a joke her primary goal wasn’t to offend, but to entertain. We know the stories of all the bad things, so if someone can find even the smallest morsel of humor in the most horrible news of the day, then I think we should embrace that.Perhaps the reason she was so good at finding comedy in tragedy is because she faced some of her own. Her husband of twenty-two years committed suicide when she was in her fifties. She took some time off, but during her first show back she told jokes about his suicide on stage.Self-deprecating humor formed the foundation of her early career, and she continued to make fun of herself for decades. Some people try to hide the fact that they had plastic surgery, but she used it as material.I’m no fashion expert, but sometimes I tuned into her Fashion Police show with my wife and daughter just to see what outrageous thing she’d say. More than once I wondered if she’d get in trouble for something she said. And the one-line assessments of some star’s outfit (“It looks like a decorative toilet seat cover” or “It looked like Prince’s old prom dress”) were as on-the-mark as they were funny.Some criticized her for her commentary, but she didn‘t care. She got great ratings, was wickedly entertaining, and correctly pointed out that the people she commented on made an effort to display their outfits. To suggest that she was being mean for evaluating fashion choices made by people who want to be judged by their fashion choices is laughable. If we can say how great some actress looks in one dress, why not say how ridiculous another actress looks in a different dress?If I was as talented as she was I’d put some joke here about her being dead.Unfortunately, I’m not as funny as her. Few ever were.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
It's Time to End Labor Day
Well, since no one else is willing to say it, I guess I’ll go ahead and be the bad guy. It’s not going to be popular, I know, but things that are necessary sometimes aren’t. So here goes nothing.It’s time to put an end to Labor Day.I know you’re probably thinking the same thing, but in case you’re not, hear me out. It makes so much sense once you put it all together.First of all, why are we giving labor its own holiday? I mean moms already have Mother’s Day and their own birthday, so just how many damn holidays are we going to give them? And doesn’t each mom already celebrate Labor Day? In fact, my wife celebrates four Labor Days each year; what’s a child’s birthday if not an acknowledgement of labor?Can’t mothers just be happy with what they have without asking for more, more, more? They like to make a big deal about how kids always say, “Can I have…” all the while they’re pushing for another holiday.This shouldn’t be surprising though. You moms have become more demanding in recent years. Don’t believe me? I’ve got two words that end the argument in my favor right away.Push present.You want a present for pushing out a baby? Isn’t the baby a present? What kind of lesson are you teaching your precious bundle of joy by insinuating that you need to be compensated for giving birth? Must we commoditize everything?This is just part of a larger moms-as-swindlers trend that has grown in the last decade or so. It begins shortly after the wedding. The new bride has that fancy (two months pay, right?) engagement ring and wedding ring on the left hand, and to balance things out someone came up with the idea of a right hand ring.Are you crazy? I must have missed the rash of falling injuries that occurred from these poor, delicate women falling over from the extra weight on the left side of their unbalanced bodies. And, of course, the only way to fix that unbalance is to get a ring for the right hand as well. Shysters!But as usual, we gentleman give in to the demands made by our women. Since their happiness is always foremost in our thoughts, this should be no surprise.I do have one suggestion though, if we’re going to have Labor Day, then we should have a corresponding day for men. Maybe we should call it Pacing in the Waiting Room and Then Passing Out Cigars Day. That sounds fair, right?And maybe that will makeup for the gross inequity we experience between Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Talk about a raw deal. Dads are supposed to pull out all the stops for Mother’s Day, and then be happy with some hamburgers and hot dogs for Father’s Day. Not to mention the fact that teachers help kids create some cute gift for their mothers, but by the time Father’s Day rolls around the kids are out of school and we miss out on the hand-drawn refrigerator magnet.One last thing, which I wasn’t going to bring up, since fashion and clothing is usually the purview of mothers, not fathers, but enough is enough. What’s with this rule that people can’t wear white after Labor Day? If my lovely bride is in a position to celebrate Labor Day, then it seems as though she should have stopped wearing white long ago according to wedding traditions.So what do you think? Are you ready to give up Labor Day? It really does seem like complete nonsense. Let’s put an end to it so we can concentrate on important holidays, like Valentine’s Day. Which reminds me, if you want to have a day celebrating labor, maybe we should change it to November, which happens to be nine months after Valentine’s Day!Wait. What’s that you say? Labor Day isn’t about giving birth? It’s about something else? Well in that case, read this.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Things to Remember on Labor Day
This may come as a surprise, but Labor Day isn’t just the unofficial end of summer, or the last day it’s acceptable to wear white, or the day to score a great deal on a mattress.Chances are you’re not working on Labor Day, which itself is one of the greatest testaments to the holiday, and the movement from which it sprang. In fact, we owe a debt of gratitude to the labor movement for most of the benefits we receive from working.How’d you like to work 61 hours a week? That was average back in 1870 before the labor movement began. Then in the 1880s labor organizers set a goal of an eight hour workday to begin on May 1, 1886. It took years of struggle, but eventually the eight hour day became standard.Of course 61 hours isn’t too bad, because that means 21 hours overtime, right? Wishful thinking, buddy. Overtime is another labor movement accomplishment.And those two days off before Labor Day, those are called the weekend. A quick check of the Oxford English Dictionary shows ten quotes from written material using the word “weekend.” Nine of those ten came from 1870 or later. That can’t possibly be a coincidence.These days kids in America go to school until they’re about eighteen years old. A hundred years ago or so, it was common for kids to be part of the labor force. And I’m not talking about the sixteen-year-old kid bagging your groceries. I’m talking about a nine-year-old kid working in a coal mine separating impurities from chunks of coal. It took forty years for the labor movement to outlaw breaker boys and child labor, so who knows how long it would have taken without unions.Some of labor’s accomplishments are less obvious. The labor movement and unions had great influence on the Civil Rights movement, the Social Security Act, OSHA, and, more recently, the Family and Medical Leave Act.It’s become en vogue in recent decades to trash unions. They’re responsible for the deep budget deficits found in many states, union workers are lazy, unions themselves are corrupt. We’ve forgotten just how much our lives—not just our jobs, but our lives—are indebted to unions and the labor movement.Would you like to work twelve hours a day, seven days a week, for a miniscule hourly wage? Thanks to unions you don’t have to.Would you like to go to work every day and never know whether you might die because your workplace is unsafe? Thanks to unions you don’t have to.Would you like to work in a place where workers are viewed as nothing but commodities, and have no say in how they’re treated? Thanks to unions you don’t have to.Of course unions aren’t perfect. There is some justification for the criticism. Some of the leaders are corrupt. Some of the workers are lazy. But that’s not because they’re union. It’s because they’re human.For most of us, the lives we live today can be directly traced back to the people who struggled for workers’ rights. Some people died for those rights. In places like Haymarket, Pullman, Republic Steel—all of which have strong ties to Chicago—workers helped secure the rights and benefits that we enjoy today. I’m off work today because of the hard work and sacrifice they made so many years ago.So when we’re enjoying our end-of-summer picnics, and finding great deals on furniture, cars, and whatever else, we should take a moment to remember why the day exists in the first place. We should remember the people who paved the way for us to live the lives we live, the people who saw wrong and tried to right it.And it wouldn’t hurt to think of those people who still work in difficult conditions today. People who aren’t paid enough; people who still risk their lives, even with safety regulations; people who work, and struggle, and fight every single day, and still have trouble making ends meet. People who work on Labor Day.It’s called Labor Day because it was difficult, and it hasn’t become much easier.By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
Why Golf isn't for Me
Try as I might—and that’s a little bit dishonest because I haven’t really tried that hard—I can’t bring myself to like golf. I realize this puts me at odds with just about every other male of my generation, but who cares?My friends play golf regularly, and about once a year they talk me into joining them for eighteen holes. I always have a good time for about fourteen holes, and then I start thinking, “Damn, another hole?”The best part about golfing is hanging out with my friends. The actual golfing just gets in the way.Sportswriter John Feinstein wrote a book about golf entitled A Good Walk Spoiled, and that’s sort of how I feel about the game. I like green grass, I like being outside, I like going for walks. Why the hell do I have to carry a club and chase a little ball around while I do it?And shouldn’t this game be easier than it is? If I’m just hitting a ball (which isn’t moving), toward a hole (which is also stationary), and I get numerous chances to succeed, then what’s so hard about it?That’s what the inventors of the game figured out after they played it for the first time. So then they came up with the cockamamie rule that whoever takes the fewest hits wins.Golf has to be the only game in which the best player is the person who does the least. You watch Tiger Woods and if he’s having a great day he’ll only hit the ball 65 times. If he’s having a bad day he’ll hit it 80 times. So I’d always root for him to have a bad day so I can see him hit the ball more.By the way, notice that I refer to golf as a game, and not a sport. It’s not a sport. If you can play a game with a cigar in your mouth and sit in a cart and drink beer between turns, it’s not a sport. It is more of a sport than hunting (give the deer guns and teach them to shoot, then it’s a sport!), but it’s still not a sport.I mentioned beer. It’s very common to see people drinking beer on the golf course while playing. This makes perfect sense. There’s a famous quote by Benjamin Franklin that goes something like, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.” If the universe must always be in balance, then it’s appropriate to drink beer while playing golf, since golf is proof that God hates us and likes to piss us off.And what’s more maddening than just suddenly losing the ball that you’re using to play the game? And not just losing it, but losing it in a little pond in the middle of the course.That’s all sorts of crazy.One of the funniest things I’ve ever seen happened near a golf course when I was twelve years old. I was in a car with my dad, my friend, and his dad on the way to a Cubs game. We passed a golf course where a bunch of guys on the green, and my dad yelled out the window, “Fore!” Those guys practically collapsed to the ground. I’m sure that’s a violation of some golf etiquette, but it makes me laugh every time I think about it.That brings me to the question of silence.Why is it custom to be quiet when someone’s getting ready to hit the ball? Alex Rodriguez is supposed to hit a baseball traveling 95 miles per hour while some drunk Red Sox fan screams the lyrics to Papa Don’t Preach, but God forbid anyone so much as sneeze when Phil Mickelson is getting ready to hit a ball resting on a tee.And don’t even get me started on the terminology. Par means you did average, so you want to be below par. But if you’re like me, you’re no good, so you need a few extra strokes. Yet someone describing my golfing abilities would say that they’re not up to par, even though I’m above par!A good walk spoiled, indeed.You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.
Dear Guns,
Dear Guns,
First, let me say that I wish I didn’t have to lump you all together. I know there’s nothing you hate more than blanket generalizations. Unfortunately, one bad apple can spoil the whole bunch, and since you all look alike (basically) and perform the same primitive function—to destroy—you all get lumped in together.
Except for you squirt guns, Nerf guns, and 1980s hair band L.A. Guns. Everyone knows you guys are different, so you’re exempt. By the way, thanks for being cool.
Now, back to you no-prefix guns.
I know none of this is your fault, since you don’t kill people. (If there’s one thing I’m “clear” on it’s that people kill people.) However, I’m wondering why—if guns don’t kill people—we send our soldiers off to war with guns. Better to just send them with nothing, right? No sense in having to tote some non-killing object along. It might just get in their way.
Forget that. I don’t want to get argumentative with you right from the get go. Lord knows we’ve had our fair share of disagreements.
So let me take a different approach. Perhaps I can get your opinion on a few things. I know it’s rather unusual to write a letter to a gun, but whenever I try to discuss this with other humans things get heated, and since bad things happen when you get heated, I thought it best to write down my thoughts.
First, what’s your take on this whole Second Amendment issue? I mean, this country’s founders thought that you were so important that they wrote you into the Constitution. Holy crap! That’s impressive.
Are you upset that militias are a thing of the past?
Of course you’re not, because those of us who pet you at night and whisper sweet nothings into your ear blatantly ignore the first few words of that amendment.
Speaking of sweet nothings, I have another question.
What’s your secret? How have you managed to get a segment of the population to worship you? I mean you don’t do anything (like kill). You’re just sort of there as a silent observer, until you make your presence known. I do have to hand it to you. You know how to make an impact.
Okay, if you don’t want to tell me that secret, then maybe you can tell me this. Don’t open relationships bother you? I mean, here you are, the old faithful gun, always there when your human compatriot needs you, and that lovely person who idolizes you so, goes around with other guns. Doesn’t that drive you crazy? I mean are you not gun enough to do the job yourself? Your sole purpose of existence is to cause havoc and destroy. Can’t you handle that? Apparently not, since most people who cradle you have other guns that they cradle.
But, I guess if you’re okay with that, I’m okay with that.
Actually, there’s a lot that I’m not okay with.
I’m not okay that you’re so easy to get. I know you’re useful sometimes, and I’m sure everyone alive will have at least one moment in which they wish they had a gun, but that doesn’t mean that any Tom, Dick or Harry should have you.
I’m not okay that instead of showing actual patriotism--which might require making tough decisions, and doing things like realizing that our founding document was written in a country that’s different from ours in race, gender, sex and culture, and just might need to be revisited—that some people think simply protecting you at all costs makes them patriotic. Again, how’d you get so lucky to be singled out?
That’s all for now, Guns. I have more to say to you, but I feel myself getting worked up, and I want to keep this civil.
I’ll leave you with a warning though. You’re becoming less popular as years pass by. Fewer people have you these days. And since there’s no hope of getting rid of you, our only hope is that people choose not to have you. So your days are numbered.
Finally, something I can thank you for.
Sincerely,
Your Friend
What I've Learned from Food Network
We all eat. Most of us watch TV. Someone smarter than me decided to combine the two. I’m not talking about TV dinners, although who doesn’t love freezer-burned food with enough salt to kill a humpback? Not to mention that scalding cherry cobbler next to the ice cold mashed potatoes.No, I’m referring to televised shows about food. And in the spirit of the couch potato, I’m referring specifically to shows in which we watch other people cook instead of learning to do it ourselves, which might require more active participation than I’m willing to put forth.So as a public service to you, I’ve got a few tips in case you mistakenly think you’ve got what it takes to appear on a cooking competition show.First, stay away from the damn truffle oil. If a thousand Chopped cooking wizards before you didn’t know how to use it, then neither do you. I can’t count the number of times some unfortunate chef wannabe has said something like, “So I finished it off with a little truffle oil…” only to find themselves guillotined.I’ve never had truffle oil, but if I know that it ruins a dish, why don’t these yokels? Have they never watched the show before appearing on it? Producers should attach razor blades to the side of the truffle oil bottle. Take care of the chopping right away.Also, if Scott Conant is a judge, don’t serve raw red onions. You don’t have some magical technique that’s going to make him like them. Stop kidding yourself.Second, scallops are the best thing ever. If you get to choose your ingredients, and you have to choose a protein, and you get seventeen million dollars if you win, then make scallops. Don’t worry if you’ve made them three weeks in a row, or if two other people are doing them, too. Make them anyway!Oh, and try to wrap them in bacon. Then be sure to tell us that bacon makes everything taste better. We’ve never heard that before. Really.Third, if you tout your sustainable practices, you must talk about using the entire animal. Tell us how important that is, and we’ll tell you how cool you are. Explain your point by telling us that you even use the bones for broth. We’ll refrain from asking what you do with intestines and bladders and other things that never get wasted, but somehow never appear on a menu either.If you cut your finger while competing, don’t worry. Slap a latex glove on that severed digit and persevere. Never mind the ten blood-dripping seconds that passed between when you cut yourself and when you wrapped the wound. If there’s no blood visible on the cutting board or the food, proceed. We’ll eat and let you know later if you gave us hep-C.Now for the bad news.As you might have gathered, these shows have judges who will taste your food. That means you can’t phone it in like one of those all-star, famous, mostly photogenic chefs who create dishes that look, taste and smell great. We’re willing to believe that everything those fast-talking sorcerers of succulence cook is delicious, but we’re secretly hoping that the judges will tear you apart like a suckling pig.Before I forget, do yourself a favor and learn how to cook a dessert. Maybe more than one. I’ve watched enough cooking shows to know that most chefs think dessert is beneath them—perhaps a step above vegetarian cooking, but still beneath their skills—but if you want the big money you better channel your inner Sara Lee and figure out how to cook something sweet.Now you’re ready. Go on television and cook your Rocky Mountain Oysters off. If you’re lucky you’ll become a celebrity chef. Then you don’t have to worry about cooking. You have underlings (sous chefs) for stuff like that. You’ll be too busy selling your steak knives and mixing bowls.And if, for some unknown reason, you decide to actually cook when you become a celebrity chef, I’ll let you in on a dirty little secret that I learned directly from network executives. Viewers can’t taste your food, but they can see your personality.In other words, the food can be garbage, but you better be gold!You should subscribe to this blog, don't you think? That way you'll never forget to come back. Forgetting is bad. So why don't you just type your email address in the box and click the "create subscription" button. I'm not going to send you a bunch of junk, and you can ditch me any time you want.
By the way, if you like what you're reading here, you should like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes.